“You heard about that?”
“Didn’t everybody?” He glanced at his watch. “Derek came in a couple of hours ago asking what I knew about this business with Sanguine and what you’ve been doing. I played dumb.” He looked down at his papers.
“Thanks, Al.” Ben walked out of the office.
Greg was talking animatedly to someone on the other end of the phone. Ben caught his eye. Greg flashed his familiar smile, waved Ben into the office, and pointed at one of his visitor chairs.
Ben reached across the desk and brushed a stray hair off Greg’s shoulder. “You’ll lose your dapper reputation if you keep this up,” Ben said.
Greg whispered thanks and returned to his conversation. Ben sat down and waited.
Eventually, Greg completed his phone call. “Man!” he bellowed. “Clients will talk your ear off if you let them.” He leaned across his desk “I didn’t expect to see you today. Have you already met with the EC?”
“Not yet. I’m on my way.”
Greg fidgeted with a pencil. “Well, I hope it all works out for you. We’re all behind you, you know. Spiritually, I mean.”
“Yeah. That isn’t really why I stopped by.”
“Oh?” Greg shifted in his chair. “What was it, then?”
“I thought you might want to tell me about it.”
Greg’s eyebrows moved almost imperceptibly closer together. “Tell you about what?”
“About you and Jonathan Adams.”
Greg leaned back slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Very smooth, Ben thought. But not convincing. Not anymore. “You knew him, didn’t you? I mean, before you came to work here. And you recognized him, that first day, when you bumbled into my office while we were talking.” Greg did not respond.
“After Tidwell flunked the hair and fiber matchup for Adams, I started trying to think of everyone who had been in contact with Adams shortly before he died. It took me awhile, but eventually I remembered you. You did react strangely when you saw him in my office that day. So did he, for that matter.” He paused. “I already know part of it. I’ve done some checking up on you. But I was hoping you could fill in the blanks.”
Greg ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t believe I care to continue this conversation.”
“Whatever.” Ben started to get up. “The police lieutenant is just outside.”
“It was just an insignificant incident,” Greg said abruptly.
Ben sat back down.
“Totally stupid. Trivial. Back at the Beta house, when I was an undergrad.”
“That was in California?”
Greg looked up at him. “Right. It was just a party raid, you know? I mean, we were a fraternity house, for Christ’s sake. It was required, practically.” He pressed his fingers against his temples. “It was harmless. A minor invasion of privacy, a few dirty jokes, a little mooning, a few photographs. But some uptight bitch in the sorority house called the police—and we got brought up on charges.”
“Indecent exposure?”
“Yeah. And breaking and entering—and sexual indecency, too. And just because I was a frat officer, I was named as one of the three instigators. It was awful. We had lawyers, parents, newspeople—everybody screaming their heads off about nothing! We plea-bargained down to a misdemeanor indecent-exposure charge. No jail time. But I had a record. And you know what that meant.”
Ben reflected for a moment. “It meant the state bar examiners wouldn’t let you sit for the bar exam. Not with a police record for sexual immorality, however minor. Probably couldn’t get into law school. And even if you did find some sleazebag school that would accept you, you’d never get hired. Especially not at the kind of firms you were interested in.”
“Precisely,” Greg said bitterly. “All I ever wanted in my entire life was to be a lawyer. That was all! And after years of planning and preparation, it all went up in smoke. Over nothing.”
“But how does Adams fit into this? I remember that he mentioned he was assigned to the California office for several years.”
Greg nodded. “Adams sat on an appellate academic review panel, part of an effort to involve members of the business community in campus affairs, no doubt with the ulterior hope of securing generous corporate grants. His panel approved the Panhellenic Committee’s decision sanction the Beta house and suspend me and the officers for a semester.”
Ben looked amazed. “You mean, all this was just to get revenge for being suspended?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Greg said. “I got over that a long time ago. I moved to another state. Changed the spelling of my last name. Started going by Greg instead of John. Finished undergrad school in New Mexico, got into law school in Texas. After law school, I moved again, to Oklahoma, and started working here. In October, I’m taking the bar exam. I paid some bum twenty bucks to put his fingerprints on my application. No questions, no problems. Nobody here knew who I was.”
“Until you bumped into Adams.”
“Until Adams. All those years of moving, lying, and law school flushed down the toilet because one stupid old man turned up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“And so you killed him.”
Greg leaned back in his chair. “Sorry, Ben. End of conversation.”
“You tried to get Adams to stay quiet, didn’t you?” Ben continued. “That’s why you arranged the meeting at the Red Parrot. And he was just the kind of old-fashioned, noble sort who might refuse to be bought off. So you killed him.”
Greg held his tongue.
“I think you wore your white camel’s hair coat. The same one you wore earlier that day to the office. That’s why Crazy Jane, the street lady, in her religious, alcoholic stupor, thought she saw a huge white dove. And after you killed him, you continued to mutilate the body, to make it look like the work of some drug-crazed north-sider. That’s why you wore a different coat to Derek’s party. After you stabbed Adams several dozen times, I bet that white coat was thoroughly disgusting.” He paused. “And when Tidwell killed Brancusci, he copied your M.O. to confuse the police.”
Greg stroked the side of his chin. “You have no proof of any of that.”
“Yes I do. Right here in the palm of my hand.” Ben held up the hair he had taken from Greg’s shoulder. “This hair is going to match the dark hairs found on Adams’s body.”
“That’s not conclusive,” Greg said unevenly.
“We’ll see.”
Greg picked up the phone. “I’m calling a lawyer.”
“Excellent idea. Let me give you some advice, though. Don’t hire anyone at this firm.” He paused at the door. “Just answer one more question, When you set up the meeting with Adams, did you use my name? Or pretend to be me?” He took a step toward Greg. “When Adams went out to be slaughtered, did he believe he was meeting me?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“No,” Ben said. “I guess not.”
There were eight men sitting in the conference room. At the head of the long table sat Derek, obviously positioned to preside. A short stack of typed papers lay on the table in front of him. At Derek’s right hand sat Arthur Raven, sound asleep as far as Ben could tell. The other six members of the Executive Committee sat next to Derek and Raven, three on each side of the table. They did not look at Ben when he entered the room.
Derek pointed toward the chair at the opposite end of the conference table. Ben sat down.
Derek cleared his throat. “Doubtless you know why you’re here, Kincaid, so I won’t drag this out. The Executive Committee met yesterday afternoon and decided to terminate your employment.”
Ben’s eyes focused on a point someplace in the middle of the table. “May I ask why?”